


The Last Christmas

by weaverofdreams45



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Calendar, Character Death, Christmas, F/M, Harmony & Co Advent Collection, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21673708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaverofdreams45/pseuds/weaverofdreams45
Summary: Harry Potter gets a diagnosis that he never expected, but what will he do when he learns that he is dying?  One curly-haired witch is determined to give him the very best for his Last Christmas.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69
Collections: Harmony Advent Collection 2019





	The Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is a pretty sad story, but I wanted to make something heartbreaking and beautiful. A big shout out to Seakays who did an amazing job as my beta. Please let me know what you think! I am very responsive to criticism and appreciate any and all feedback!

\- May 2, 1999 -

Harry Potter always imagined that after he defeated Voldemort his life would have nowhere to go but up. However, shortly after the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, he learned that was not necessarily true.

_“I’m what?” Harry’s voice asked, shockingly high as he struggled to come to terms with what he’d just been told. Horatio Lowell did not seem like the kind of man to joke even under less serious conditions._

_“I’m so sorry, but you are dying Mr. Potter. Your magic is fading; residual from Voldemort’s death if I were to take a guess. You died once Mr. Potter, and I am afraid you’re about to do it again.” The healer was the head of Mysterious Maladies at St. Mungo’s. Kingsley had insisted he get the best care possible when he had collapsed suddenly during an Auror training mission._

_Harry’s eyes glossed over then, uncertain of what to do with this new information. He’d resigned himself to death before, but it was so much crueler to have to do it a second time. Once he came back from his brief clip of death, it was like every breath he took filled his lungs like never before. Harry couldn’t help but think how ironic it was, that he should die when he felt the most alive._

_“How…” Harry cleared his throat, rubbing emptily as the hot sting of tears pooled in the corners of his brilliant green eyes. “How long do I have?”_

_“You’ll have at least until Christmas. Maybe the New Year.” The healer then began to drone on about how he could prolong his life. It was unlikely that he would be able to continue in the training program, considering that he was supposed to limit his use of magic. As the man spoke, his voice grew further and further away as Harry’s eyes glazed over. He didn’t want to hear it…didn’t want to deal with the fact that he only had less than a year left to live._

\- December 4, 1999 -

“What are you staring at Harry?” Hermione inquired, her calm voice breaking him out of his misery. It was more common than ever, as the holidays approached, for him to be lost in thought. No one knew about his diagnosis…no one but the healer and himself. Ginny had been busy with the Harpies, and Harry was thrilled to see his ex-girlfriend thriving in the National Quidditch League. Ron was entangled in the Auror training that Harry had dropped out of and Hermione…how could he mar one of their few meetings with such horrific news?

Ron was much the same as he always had been – trusting and easily accepting of Harry’s excuse about leaving Auror training for personal reasons without so much as batting an eye. He was so trusting, so warm, and it broke Harry’s heart every time his wide smile split his freckled face. Kingsley had been more skeptical about his resignation, but what good was being the savior of the wizarding world if it didn’t earn you the right to be mysterious?

Hermione…Hermione was a beast all on her own. The observant witch had noticed something was wrong about three days after Harry had removed himself from training. She had cornered him in the Ministry when he came by to hand in his uniform and insisted on knowing what was going on.

He truly had meant to tell her. Merlin he’d tried, but once he looked into the honeyed amber of her eyes, his heart shattered. She was so beautiful now – not that she hadn’t been before, but it was a subtle beauty in a way that he’d never noticed. He’d been with Ginny and Ron had fancied her for so long that he’d grown blind to what a spectacular woman she was. Her curls were wilder than they had been at Hogwarts, reigning free as she chattered on animatedly during their tea. Her warm-toned skin was flushed from the growing winter cold, and he smiled sadly at her while she blathered on about troll rights or some other muck.

In the middle of one of her more impassioned speeches about how much of a git Draco Malfoy was for fighting against her lycanthropy bill in the Wizengamot, Harry sighed loudly, placing his hand over hers. Comical really, how large his hands seemed when placed next to her delicate ones. Squeezing it tightly, he looked her right in those big honey eyes and promised her, “You are going to do amazing things Hermione Granger. You are going to change the world.”

It wasn’t meant to motivate her or flatter her. It wasn’t hyperbole or exaggeration. It wasn’t him supporting a friend. It was the truth, and he could feel it in his soul…in his bones. She scrunched her nose up in response, the way she always did when she was complimented. Probably a result of the bullying she’d experienced before and while attending Hogwarts, she always tried to make herself small when someone complimented her. Not that she didn’t know she was brilliant – naturally she knew – but there was a hesitance in her eyes from accepting it when told to her by others.

Reversing the position of their hands, Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand gently, pity and concern filling her warm eyes as she looked sadly at him. “Are you okay Harry? Leaving the aurors is just…I worry.” His resolve almost broke then, and he almost told her everything. Images flashed in his mind though of Hermione crying at his grave, and he shoved his newfound bravery to the dark recesses of his mind.

“I’m fine ‘Mione. The healer at St. Mungo’s just said I needed time to heal. I’ll…” The imminent lie stuck in his throat and for a moment he feared he would choke on it. “I’ll join them again when the next training class starts.” Stirring his tea absentmindedly, he struggled against the weight of her eyes. She was smarter than he was, smarter than anyone else he knew.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you that something more isn’t going on but just…I’m here for you Harry.” His heart beat a little faster as she leaned in to say that, and he finally realized for the first time that he loved her. He’d always loved her, starting from when she’d agreed to enter a trapdoor guarded by a three-headed dog, but this felt different. It was a warmer feeling, causing a flush to burn at his face. 

“I know.” The silence that surrounded them after that heavy note should’ve been stifling; it should have pressed the air around them until it was uncomfortable to just sit, but it wasn’t. Hermione’s presence and the warmth of where her hand held his chased away the dark clouds and cold chill that had been following him ever since he’d first heard the news of his impending doom.

A clock on the wall of the tea shop they sat in chimed the hour, and Hermione looked reluctantly at the golden timekeeper. “I have to get back to work. Am I still coming for dinner tonight? Ronald can’t make it anymore; he’s got a date with that girl from the records department.” Despite the slightly bitter tone in her voice, Harry knew that Hermione was not truly upset. They had split rather amicably shortly after they had begun dating, but there was still a sting in the fact that she had remained single and Ron was dating a new girl every week.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll have Kreacher make that curry dish you like.” Harry smiled at her, and it was probably the closest thing to a genuine smile that he had given since his diagnosis. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that she would figure him out eventually, but until then, he would do his best to convince her and the rest of the world that nothing was wrong.

“Alright. I’ll floo over when my meeting with Robards is done. You would think that for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement he’d be a little less long-winded.”

The crisp winter air swirled around him as he walked home to Grimmauld Place. It was a bit of a far walk, but the chill cleared his mind. There had been so many chances to tell her, and yet he still kept his secret close to him, like a losing hand of cards that he was trying to bluff.

His birthday had been the first social occasion he had managed to attend following his diagnosis. It was the first time he had seen most of the Weasleys, except for Ron and Ginny. There had been an explosive fight. Ginny accused him of losing interest in her, and the worst part was that he couldn’t deny it. Something about the imminent death he was facing made him realize that he loved her, but he wasn’t in love with her. No, he had been in love with someone else far longer than even he knew.

Hermione had looked beautiful at his birthday party, wearing a figure-hugging pair of denims and a flowing top. Her curly hair had been braided neatly, and her skin was slightly tanned from a summer holiday she had taken with her parents. After recovering their memories, she spent nearly every day with them. She was loud when she laughed, and she sometimes stuck her tongue out slightly when she was particularly focused on a book she was reading, and Harry was hopelessly in love with her. Likely had been for some time, although he hadn’t known it.

He sighed as he continued his trek. The walk back to Grimmauld Place from his and Hermione’s favorite coffee shop in Muggle London was normally calming, but Harry’s mind raced at the thought of her kind eyes looking so sadly at him. He knew he should tell her, but he just…couldn’t. She’d try to fix it. She’d stop at nothing to protect him, to keep him safe, and as much as he loved her for it, he wouldn’t let her stop her life on his account. When he ascended the steps into the home he’d been left by his Godfather, Kreacher greeted him with an insincere bow and took his coat.

A warn arm-chair that had quickly become Harry’s favorite place to sit and ponder his misery, and he found himself often getting lost in thought while tracing its hideous beige floral pattern with his eyes. There was so much he had assumed he would have time to do. Coming face to face with mortality once was enough for most people and he’d have to do it a second time.

“Master looks like he be wanting a drink.” Kreacher noticed, his high-pitched voice grating against the headache that had been brewing inside Harry’s brain.

“Tea. If you would.” Harry responded, placing his hand over his eyes and hoping he could will his worries away. The house elf bowed his grey and pointed head and walked towards the kitchen. Once his tea was delivered, he went through the motions of putting in a half spoon of sugar and a splash of cream. He watched absently as the warm amber liquid that reminded him so much of Hermione’s eyes grew cold and bitter and wondered, not for the first time, just how many people would truly mourn him when he was gone.

He sat there, motionless and deep in thought for what may have been hours, until his neck had stiffened and his legs had gone numb. Only the stiff interruption of curtains opening dug him out of his depression.

Walburga, who had been silenced permanently about three hours after Harry had returned to Grimmauld after the war, sat on the wall glaring at him in her quiet rage.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I am…I am dying.” It was the first time he had said it out loud, and the words felt clumpy and heavy in his throat, like cement. The banshee raised a single greyed eyebrow and smirked smugly, looking the most like her son that he had ever seen her. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Merlin you can’t even talk back to me and I can’t even say it. How can I…how can I possibly tell her? She deserves to know but I can’t. I can’t do it.”

He stood unsteadedly, running his hands frantically through his hair as he had often done when they were on the run those years ago. It did nothing to calm his anxiety though, as he just imagined vividly how Hermione used to react when she saw him like that.

_“No amount of mussing up your hair is going to solve our problem Harry. We need food.” Hermione’s voice was firm but kind as she addressed him, a collection of twigs that would be large enough for firewood gathered in her arms. Laying them down in the pile that she had amassed next to the fire, she joined him in the tent. The closer they grew to Christmas, the more anxious they all felt. It had been a week and a half since Ron had left them, and most days Harry found it difficult to even get up in the mornings. But then there was Hermione…_

_Her curly hair was absolutely a disaster, tied back most of the time simply because she didn’t have the time or means to properly tame it. Dark bags hung under her eyes as testimonies to how little they slept. Owing to the fierce cold of the winter, her cheeks were tinged pink, and Harry tried his best not to stare at her._

_His hand was raised and running through his dirty black hair once again before he even realized it. A sigh escaped the witch with him and she grabbed his hand, pulling it in hers down to her lap where she began to stroke circles onto the back. In that moment, in the warmth of her hands and the warmth of her smile, he felt at peace for the first time in months. Even when he was certain that he was moments from death and defeat, she made him feel like everything would be okay._

_“We’re going to make it through this.” He promised her, ignoring how shallow of a promise it was. “Together. Always together.”_

_She looked as if she mjght cry as he made eye contact with her, but she hastily looked away, placing her head on his shoulder. They sat there for a long while, just listening to the crackling of the fire; his hand in hers and her head on his shoulder. For the first time since Ron had left them, he allowed himself a small smile._

“Master is dying?” Kreacher’s voice broke Harry out of his thoughts and back to the dreary dark sitting room. The large elf had grown less hostile towards Harry in his years of service, and he knew that Kreacher might actually be concerned about him.

“Yes. The healer at St. Mungo’s said I won’t last the year.” Uncomfortable and involuntary laughter bubbled out of his mouth, and his laughs caught in his throat as they turned to sobs. “I have three weeks left, maybe four. I can feel it you know. Last time I didn’t feel anything. Quick…like Sirius said. Just like falling asleep. This time I can…its like I’m fading slowly. Merlin there was so much I wanted to do…so much I wanted to say.”

Had he been a little less miserable, a little less distracted, he may have heard the floo activate in the next room over. He may have heard quiet footsteps approach. He may have…but he didn’t.

“Harry…” It was the most quiet he’d ever heard her voice, and the sound shattered his heart. Exactly what he had been avoiding had just happened. How had he lost track of time? The sound at the end of his name trailed off as burning tears began to sting her eyes, and she grabbed the doorframe with her right hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Harry had never been good at reading emotions, likely due to the fact that he didn’t have a very good example to ween information off of growing up. Hermione’s face was showing more emotions in the few seconds she had been there than he thought he had ever felt. Pain and anguish took centre stage, flanked by what looked like rage and irritation. Uncertain of what would happen next, he leaned forward in his chair and waited for the fall out.

“No.” Hermione’s voice was firm when she spoke, but unlike the kind way she had comforted him in the Forest of Dean, there was no warmth to her tone this time. She walked closer to him, and he could feel her magic crackling around her. He’d only ever seen her this angry once before and it was when Ron and Lavender had been caught snogging in the hallways.

“You can’t just say no to the universe, Hermione. I am…” He cleared his throat, trying not to dwell on how absolutely terribly everything was going. “I am dying and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. My core is fading. I won’t survive without it.”

Air in the room began to get tight as the overwhelming pressure of her magic began to pull everything in towards her. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her hair as the anger melted away from her body. Her shoulders dropped, and she placed her hands around his waist as well.

“I can’t lose you…not again.” Hermione was clearly crying, as her broken and gasping breaths interrupted her declaration, but her voice was muffled by his chest. She seemed so small in his embrace, and he loosened his grip; as if wrapping too tightly around her might make her shatter.

“There’s nothing that can be done Hermione. Killing Voldemort fractured something in the very core of my magic. Healer Lowell said I have to Christmas…maybe the new year, but I am going to die.” The way she looked at him, like he was a new puzzle to solve, alighted the flame that had lain dormant and decaying in the cold cavity of his chest where his newfound will to live battled against the knowledge that he must die.

“I won’t allow it. I’ll…I’ll find a way to fix it. I’ll talk to Ron. There must be something we can do, something I can tr…” He cut her off, pulling her away from him enough so he could see her. Puffy redness took the place of her usually pale skin, and her eyes were bloodshot. There was some snot escaping her nose from the sobs she was still recovering from, but he just smiled sadly at her. Wiping away a stray tear with his thumb, his hand cupped her cheek.

“Don’t. Please don’t tell Ron or anybody else. Only my healer, you and I…and well I guess Kreacher, know about this. Do you really want to help me?” Harry’s voice was more confident than it had been in months, and Hermione was taken aback to see what looked like her old friend back. Nodding her head briefly, she used the overly large sleeves of her jumper to dry her face.

“Anything.” She promised, the words sounding like a song to him. Anything, she would do anything for him.

“Help me to make these last few weeks count. There is so much I want to do, and I don’t want to do them alone. I can’t tell anyone else about this. You’re all I have, ‘Mione.” It may have been deceitful of him, or even a bit selfish to ask her to give him her time. Those seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks that he had left were all he had to give, and he wanted to give them all to her.

“Okay.” The response was so immediate that Harry thought for a moment that he may have imagined it.

“Okay?” He repeated back at her, earning a small laugh and an eye roll.

“Yes. Okay. Quite honestly I have about a month of days off that I’ve never used. I can’t think of a better way to use them. Although you can’t stop me from trying to save you. Its all I know how to do. I’ve never let one of your idiotic schemes kill you before and I won’t be starting now.” There was a sadness behind her laughter that Harry assumed she thought she was hiding, but he ignored it and just smiled back. He was going to get to spend his last weeks alive with the woman he loved…whether she knew that or not.

* * *

Kingsley had personally approved Hermione’s vacation time, and when Zacharias Smith (who also worked in Magical Creatures) complained, the Minister had told him that he could get a month off when he helped defeat the most evil dark wizard who’d ever lived. Needless to say, Hermione was on Harry’s doorstep, ready for her first adventure, on December 5 precisely at noon. Kreacher, with a sneer and withdrawn disdain, showed her into the sitting room.

Their first adventure was to go figure skating in Muggle London, which Hermione had enjoyed thoroughly as Harry slid and fell like a baby doe first learning to walk. The second task he wanted to complete was to fly in a professional Quidditch stadium. It was amazing how easy it was to get access to restricted places when one was the savior of the Wizarding World. Somehow Harry had managed to guilt Hermione into getting on the broom with him, but she stuck him with a hefty bat bogey hex when they landed. She had told him specifically not to fly too high, and they had nearly reached the clouds.

When she arrived on December 17th to Grimmauld Place, Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to expect. To her, everything that he seemed to ever want had been done. She had been wrong.

Hermione didn’t know if Harry had been driven mad by his grief or if he’d finally just gone round the bend, but every Christmas decoration that existed in the world seemed to be draping or hanging from some surface.

“Hello Hermione.” Harry greeted, the largest smile she’d seen on his face in years stretching his skin. He looked absolutely ridiculous with an oversized red Santa hat with fuzzy white trim and matching Christmas pajamas.

“Hello. Did you…buy out a holiday shop?” Hermione asked as she ducked under a string of silver tinsel to cross the room towards where Harry sat surrounded by baubles and ornaments for the beautiful pine tree that sat in the corner.

“No, but this is another step of my to-do list. I’ve never gotten to decorate for Christmas. Aunt Petunia always said it was too messy and the Weasley’s tree was always done before I arrived. You and I are going to make Grimmauld look like a winter wonderland. Here.” He offered her a box of delicate purple and blue ornaments and she swallowed her questions. If Harry wanted to spend his last days (not if she could help it!) being a barmy git, then who was she to stop him?

“Kreacher!” Harry screamed, a little too loudly. The grumbling elf popped up next to him, wearing a particularly vivid green pillowcase. Turning to Hermione, he explained, “He wouldn’t accept the sweater I tried to give him, so this was the best I could do.”

“What is it Master be wanting?” Kreacher spoke, looking somehow grumpier and more discontent than normal. Hermione wasn’t surprised he wouldn’t accept clothes from Harry. He’d go to Draco Malfoy once…if Harry passed without an heir. 

“Bring some hot chocolate with whipped cream for us.” A moment later, the elf was gone, and another moment later he was back. It had been too long since Hermione had last had hot chocolate, and she recognized immediately the recipe that she used to specifically request from the Hogwarts kitchen. Hermione looked with a bit of surprise at Harry who simply shrugged nonchalantly.

Celestina Warbeck was playing on the wireless, and Hermione didn’t realize until a few seconds in that Harry was singing along. He didn’t have a beautiful voice, but it was the first time she’d ever heard him sing. This carefree and energetic side of Harry was one she’d never seen before, and her cheeks burned as she dwelled on him. The Christmas pajamas he wore clung to him as he reached up to put an ornament on a high portion of the tree, a tiny sliver of his skin peaking out from under the hem. Swallowing down whatever feelings she didn’t have time to think about, Hermione busied herself. She didn’t have time to think about the boy who was her best friend, about how she’d been in love with him since he saved her from a troll when she was twelve. She just didn’t have the time…he didn’t have the time. Several hours, a lunch break, and about one thousand ornaments and baubles later, Harry declared that the house was done.

“If I have to see one more piece of tinsel, I’m hexing you blind.” Hermione warned, collapsing into the comfy sofa that was finally free now that all the empty boxes had been spelled away. The sofa had been one of the only new pieces of furniture Harry had bought after Ron had accidentally set it on fire once after a little too much firewhiskey.

Closing her eyes tight, she stretched out before retracting into a ball. Without looking, she could feel Harry settle in next to her, his weight dipping down the couch. Peeking open one eye, she placed her legs over his, a position they had been in many times at Hogwarts. Something felt different about this time however, and Hermione blushed sheepishly. 

Attempting to pull away, she was stopped suddenly by the weight of Harry’s hand on her legs. It wasn’t much, just a rest, but there was something that burned her about his touch.

“Can I tell you something ‘Mione?” He asked her, absentmindedly drawing circles on her calves. It was not a new position for them to be in, but it wasn’t the same.

“Always.” She responded, sitting up and facing him. He had grown serious again, and it made her frown. He had been so happy only moments before, but it was like he suddenly remembered why they were there.

“I don’t want to die.” His voice was so small, and so quiet, that Hermione struggled to hear him. He was staring intently now at his hands, as they continued to draw soothing circles on her legs, although she was fairly sure that the soothing feature benefitted her more than him.

“Well I don’t want you to die either, so that’s something we have in common.” They both chuckled weakly, and Hermione scooted her legs out from under his arms and positioned herself so she was sitting next to him. His hair was messy, as it always was, and she ran her fingers through it, attempting to calm it. It was fruitless, of course, but she could see some tension leave his shoulders. Hermione couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked, and her heart skipped a beat when he smiled that crooked smile at her.

Before she could figure out what was going on, his warm lips were on hers. There was something so gentle about the way his hand traced the contour of her chin, and once she recovered from her surprise, she pulled away.

It was unexpected really, how much she liked kissing him. Harry had never…she had never really thought he thought of her romantically before, but the way they fell together felt so right.

Harry’s cheeks and neck were red from a blush as she looked at him. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”

Before he could backtrack and apologize more, Hermione grabbed his face in her hands. Her much smaller stature made it so that she could just barely cup his cheeks, and there was something fragile in the air around them as she leaned in. The moment that her lips met his again, it was like a spark had ignited, and they were desperate to get closer to one another.

Her lithe fingers found a hold in his wild black hair, and he snaked his hands into her riotous curls. Tangled together, all the years of hidden emotions they had been feeling came apart.

Several minutes later, the two broke apart, gasping desperately for air, although they were disappointed to be parted. Hermione smoothed down the portion of her hair where his hands had been wrapped, and Harry looked at her like a new day had just dawned.

“You know, I’ve wanted to snog you since we were 13 you know. Merlin knows I didn’t know I fancied you, but I reckon its been about since you gave Malfoy that slap.” Harry smiled at her, pulling her against him so her head was resting on his shoulder, as it had been the first time he’d realized he loved her.

“Are you kidding me?” Hermione asked, smacking him in the arm as hard as she could. “Harry James Potter! How dare you tell me you fancy me when you are dying! I’ve been in love with you since I was 12!” The words slipped out before she had even realized it, and she gasped once she realized what she’d said.

“But…” He stuttered, clearly not understanding what she had said. “But you never seemed interested. Krum and then Ron…” 

“I only fancied Krum and Ron because you were busy ogling Cho and Ginny.” Hermione corrected.

“But I only fancied Cho and Ginny because you were…oh Merlin I’ve royally mucked this up haven’t I. I love you Hermione.” The words were true, but he’d never said them aloud before. The same way that admitting he was dying stuck in his throat, so too did this bitter truth. It was the happiest moment of his life, to be loved by his best friend, but in the next breath, he was closer to dying than ever.

“I can’t do this to you Hermione.” Harry broke, separating from her and standing stiffly, discomfort emanating from him as he fidgeted. This had been a mistake. He had worried about leaving her behind and now he was going to spend his last few days loving her selfishly. Not spending the rest of his life with her broke his heart, even more than the idea of dying. 

“You don’t get to just decide that. I love you you bloody idiot and if I can’t save you, I am bloody well going to spend the rest of the time you have left making up for lost opportunities.” She kissed him again, and this time it wasn’t sweet or uncertain. There was a hunger in her lips, a need for him, and all of his barriers fell. She was temptation and sin and passion rolled into one petite package and he was so grateful to love her.

* * *

Hermione and Harry did not leave Grimmauld Place for the rest of the winter holidays, to the intense dismay of Hermione’s father and the romantic approval of Hermione’s mother. Her owl – which she had purchased after Crookshanks had died – rerouted her mail to Harry’s house, and she was lounging in the kitchen while he made breakfast, reading it.

“Bit of a snag.” Hermione spoke, sipping her tea. Her hair was pulled up into a pile of messy curls, and she wore her warmest pair of sweats and Harry’s old quidditch practice jersey. The oversized cotton material was surprisingly warm, and Harry had simply raised an eyebrow when she had come downstairs in it.

“Oh?” Harry’s green eyes were less brilliant than they had been, and his hair had begun to grey, owing to his core draining. He looked older every day, and Hermione and Harry were ignoring the elephant in the room that his death was getting closer and closer. Christmas Eve had snuck up on them, and Ron Weasley’s scribbled handwriting graced a letter addressed to Hermione and Harry.

“Oh that’s not good.” Harry wasn’t particularly worried – per se – but there was something nerve-wracking about receiving a letter from his best friend. “What does it say?” He had an educated guess, before she even broke open the seal.

_I’m coming over to Grimmauld Place today._

_Ron_

It was very matter of fact, and Hermione could sense from how stiff his writing was how hurt he was, and she realized that she had been very selfish with this whole situation. She had been so distracted by the bliss of falling in love that she had allowed thoughts of her former boyfriend and best friend to slip to the side. Crushing guilt seemed to press on her and Harry as they processed his letter.

“I’ve been a rubbish friend.” Harry spoke, matter-of-factly, nearly burning the eggs he had been cooking. Turning off the burner, he let out a frustrated grunt. He picked up a nearby mug and hurled it at the wall, watching as it splintered. Hermione jumped at this show of rage and approached him cautiously.

“We’ve been rubbish friends. I’ve been…selfish. I didn’t want to share what little time you had left. Ron deserves…I should’ve told him. He deserves your time just as much as I do.” Placing her hand on his face, she stroked it lightly, shivering when his warm touch overlapped hers, pressing her hand into his cheek even more.

“I just don’t have enough time. I’ve been spending time with you doing silly things when I should’ve been spending it with my friends. Ron…he’ll hate me for this.” As if talking about him had summoned him, Ron’s large and freckled form emerged from the floo in a loud swoosh.

“Alright you better bloody well explain yourselves.” He had grown even taller, it seemed, as the Auror program had developed his muscles. His ginger hair was longer, like Bill’s, and fell around his ears. Guilt filled Harry as he walked up to his best friend, and wrapped her in a tighter hug than they had ever shared.

“Wow. Alright Harry. Nice to see you too mate. Didn’t mean to be all dramatic.” Ron was clearly uncomfortable with Harry’s prolonged contact, so Hermione cleared her throat. Harry realized it had been too long, and unwrapped Ron from his arms. Hermione walked up to him and shared a short hug as well, comically small compared to the gentle ginger giant.

“Ron I think we should…why don’t you and Harry go in the other room while I make some tea. Give you a chance to…talk about things.” Hermione knew she was just buying time, uncertain of how Ron’s temper would deal with both the betrayal of them keeping this massive secret from him and the truth about their new relationship. She boiled the kettle the muggle way, and figured that Harry had cast a silencing charm over the room. When the tea was steeping, Hermione checked his pantries and put together a pitiful tray of biscuits, knowing that Ron would be distracted by food.

Walking to the sitting room with her tray of tea and biscuits floating behind her, she walked in on a sight she hadn’t been expecting. The two boys were cackling together, gasping for breath from the effort of laughing. 

“I don’t suppose you told him then.” Hermione spoke as she placed down the tray on the coffee table. Harry, who was barely breathing from whatever laughing fit he was having, shook his head.

“I told him. He punched me in the face and called me a dickhead and then told me it was about time I got my fat head out of my arse, and made my move on you. Apparently there’s been bets running in the Weasley household about when we’d get together.” He clapped his friend on the back and grabbed a biscuit.

Hermione’s jaw lay open as she watched the casual posture between the boys. This had not been what she’d expected. “So you’re not angry with us for not telling you Harry was dying?”

Ron shook his head quietly, and he looked more grown up in that moment than she’d ever seen him. “I knew. Funny how they give all the paperwork to the new recruits. Its in his official file but I figured he’d tell me when he was ready.”

“That’s…” Hermione cleared her throat, trying to process Ron reacting much differently than she had been ready for. “That’s remarkably mature of you.”

“Hey don’t sound so surprised. It’s been known to happen.” As if to directly contradict what he was arguing, he shoved three biscuits in his mouth at once and smiled at her with a full mouth.

“And you’re not angry?” Hermione’s tone was more disbelieving than she had meant it to be, but she couldn’t understand why Ron and Harry were so calm.

Ron took a moment to swallow his unnecessary quantity of sweets and then responded. “I was at the beginning. Figured that I’d been willing to die with you once. But then as time passed and you got more withdrawn.” He turned and faced Hermione. “I was gonna tell him I knew but then you both up and disappeared. Now I know why.”

There was a knowing look in Ron’s blue eyes that made Hermione’s cheeks burn, and she looked away from him in embarrassment.

“I don’t blame you either. I know what its like loving you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Harry forgot anyone else existed. Just do me a favor.” He waited for Harry and Hermione’s acknowledgement before continuing. “In the last moments, let me be there. Let me say goodbye.” Despite his smile, there was something devastating in his words, and Harry nodded his head tightly.

* * *

Harry woke up on Christmas morning feeling like death, and he turned over to find Hermione still sleeping peacefully next to him. She had convinced him to come to Christmas at her parents’, and he had agreed. It was all she wanted for Christmas, she had said.

Later that day, Harry charmed himself to hide the wear and tear of his fading core and went around all of Wizarding Britain like some off-brand Santa. He stopped by Andromeda Tonks’ house to provide her the details of a vault he had opened for his godson. Teddy, who had recently become aware of his metamorphmagus powers, switched his hair to match Harry’s, and it broke his heart. Andromeda didn’t question him when he told her he had opened a vault, mainly because it would probably not be until after the holidays when she found out that he had deposited the full worth of the Potter vault in it, minus some recent purchases.

The next stop had been the Weasleys’ house. Mrs. Weasley presented him with yet another sweater with his initial on it, and he nearly broke on the spot. He gathered the family and informed them that he was giving them 10 million galleons for all they had done for him. ‘You’ve been my only family for most of my life.’ Harry had told them, as Mrs. Weasley nearly collapsed, and Mr. Weasley tried to protest. He insisted and after ten minutes of argument, Mr. Weasley finally relented, brought to the brink of tears in relief. They had given much of their funds to the war effort, and Harry knew they’d never really recovered.

He pulled Ron aside, as the Weasleys reacted to his generosity and told him that today would be the day. Ron didn’t want to hear it at first, assuming Harry was taking the mickey out of him. As he laughed and Harry didn’t, his joyous features began to fall. Soon, he was sniffling as he barely contained tears.

“You’ll always be my best mate.” The ginger wizard promised, wrapping Harry in the tightest embrace they’d ever shared.

“Always.” Harry echoed back, letting the safety of Ron’s arms hold him back from the cruel reality he faced a little longer.

After that, it was a trip to Hogwarts and a trip to each of his friends. Luna knew…he didn’t know how, but she knew. Neville didn’t even suspect something was wrong, happily accepting his present of a new greenhouse for Longbottom Manor. He was in Auror training with Ron, but Harry knew that Neville would end up being a world famous herbologist.

Once he was done with his last goodbyes, he returned to Grimmauld Place, where Hermione was frantically searching for an earring that had gone missing in her ridiculous beaded bag.

“I told you you should have made it possible to accio them. But no, you just had to make sure Lavender stopped trying to steal them.” Deciding that he might as well be of some help, he took the beaded bag from her hands and began searching its depths. He may not be the Gryffindor Seeker anymore, but his eyes were still well-attuned to finding small shiny things.

“Aha!” Harry exclaimed as he pulled the small golden-set pearl earring from the bag. Handing it back to her, he took a long look at the end result of her readying. She was wearing makeup, although not a lot of it, and she looked beautiful. Her curly hair was in a tight knot on top of her head with only a few rogue strands framing her face.

Instinctively, he reached out to push a curl out of her eyes and stroked her cheek. “Even if it was only for a limited time, I’ve been so blessed to have loved you. Forever wouldn’t have been long enough.” Harry could feel it, that this would be his last day. Even as Hermione’s brown eyes brimmed with tears and he wiped them away, somehow peaceful in the knowledge that he will have died loving her.

Her lips were salty from the few tears that had escaped when she kissed him, rising up on her tip-toes. It was chaste, sweet…not unlike how their first kiss had gone and Harry knew that this would likely be their last. She wiped her eyes as they parted, and cast a quick cooling charm to relieve the puffiness of her near-cry.

“Come on. Let’s get to my parents’ before my mum has time to drink more than one glass of wine. Also if my Dad starts talking about golf just nod and smile.” Her joke felt forced and the smile that accompanied it hid pain, but Harry just nodded and followed her out the door. They were apparating to Kensington, and when they stepped outside of Grimmauld Place, Harry nearly stopped in his tracks.

“Its snowing.” Wonder and happiness filled him as he watched the small white flakes fall gently down from the grey sky. Street lamps had begun to light, and the whole street looked like a scene from a film. Hermione, now wrapped up in a heavy winter coat, mittens, and a hat, grabbed his hand. Harry held up his other hand to the sky and caught a single snowflake on his palm. He watched with the curiosity of a child when the snowflake – unique in its beauty – melted when it touched his skin. Each snowflake was individual, not one was the same, but they were beautiful just the same. He felt like that snowflake, in that moment, and the inevitability of death didn’t bother him so much. His life had been short, but there were still so many who would look back on it and smile, just like he would do with the snow when it had melted.

“Let’s go.” With a crack, the two departed and landed on the stoop of Hermione’s childhood home. She had kept it vacant during the war so no new muggles who moved in would be targeted, so when her parents got their memories back, she was able to move them back in. Richard and Susan Granger answered the door and greeted him with the same kindness that they always had.

“I always thought you two would make a lovely couple.” Susan had whispered to Harry as she took his coat. Hermione had blushed fiercely and pouted. “Mum!!!” The embarrassment was clear in her voice, but Harry just laughed. His face felt tight from laughter as the prolonged use of his transfiguration began to wear on him. The core of his magic, while draining, aged him significantly, and he was not the young man he should have been.

Dinner was a pleasure, as Harry managed to nod and smile along (as instructed) to Richard Granger’s golf talk, and Susan engaged him about his career with the ministry. Both he and Hermione had agreed that explaining his circumstance to her muggle parents would be far too much for Christmas day.

He watched her, through much of the evening, committing to memory every wrinkle in her face when she laughed, how she threw her head back when her mother told her a joke, how her face lit up when her father told a story. He couldn’t do it…he couldn’t ruin her Christmas with the singular knowledge that he wouldn’t last to see the morning.

When dessert was being served, and tea was poured, Harry sipped at his cup quietly, contributing to the conversation where he could. His chest had begun to hurt during the dinner and he knew that his time was up.

“Hermione, I’m going to head home. Feel a bit of a stomachache coming on. Too much of your dad’s brilliant roast.” Hermione smiled as Richard harrumphed in appreciation for the compliment and walked to the hall.

“Okay. I’ll just get my coat…” He cut her off, shaking his head and placing her coat back on the coat rack from where she had taken it.

“No, you stay. Have fun with your family. I know I’ve been keeping you distracted from them. I’ll see you…I’ll see you when you get home. Happy Christmas Hermione.” He kissed her forehead, pushing all of his love for her through his lips. This would be his last present to her.

“Happy Christmas Harry.” She responded, the brightness of her smile driving a stake through his heart. 

Outside the Granger’s house, he pulled off into a little used back lot and focused himself. Apparrition was all about destination, determination, and deliberation. He had a destination in mind, and he would be damned if he wasn’t determined. Closing his eyes, he felt the tug of travel at his navel, and when he opened them, he stood in Godric’s Hollow.

The small graveyard that housed his parents was covered in a thin layer of snowfall, and Harry raised his bitterly cold fingers up to the freezing stone to clear their names. It was poetic to him, somehow, to die in the same place they had. “I’ll be seeing you both soon but I just…I wanted to tell you that I finally did it. I told Hermione I loved her and its…Merlin you would’ve loved her mum. Just like you. Fierce, muggleborn, cleverist witch alive.”

His voice broke, and for a moment, all the sadness in his heart overwhelmed the acceptance he had been working up to. He was angry, so angry to have wasted so much time. Harry could’ve been loving her his whole life if he had just been brave enough.

“I don’t want to die. Not that anyone ever really does but I don’t want it. I want to get married, and have children, and retire in my old age. I want to see what Hermione looks like when we’re aged and wrinkled and time has worn us down to memories.” Falling to his knees, he leaned against the gravestone, the coolness of its touch against his cheek feeling so good. His body felt weak, weaker than it ever had before, and he stared out into the blankness of the night sky lit only by a single light from the nearby church.

“I want her to know…I want her to know that this was the most amazing Christmas…my last Christmas.”

* * *

Harry Potter’s body was discovered in Godric Hollow’s cemetery on Christmas morning 1999, laid between the flowers of his parents’ grave and a single white lily. Next to his body, charmed into the snow, were the words. _I love you, and thank you for one last Christmas_.

Hermione Granger never married, though she did adopt a young orphan in her 32nd year; a little boy with messy black hair and glasses. When asked why, she always gave the same answer. “It was what he would have done.”

She died at the old age of 120, having lived 100 years without Harry Potter and having been the longest serving Minister of Magic in British history. It is rumored that her dying words were, “I have only one regret in my life, and it is that I didn’t love him long enough.”


End file.
